With Arms Wide Open
by Lily-On-Water
Summary: There had been no cry when their baby boy came out, no cry from the child they had both so longed for, the baby boy they had been going to name Falcon.  Lives will be changed and relationships will be put to the test as they struggle in their independent means of finding solace.  Will they cling together in the wake of this tragedy or just be further drifted apart?  NO SONGFIC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride or any of its amazing and unforgettable characters. All I own is the plot and Falcon.**

"Fang..." Her voice is merely a croak, and he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, although he is not in the slightest reassured himself. He wants answers, he needs them, and he needs them now. Why is it taking so long for them to bring back his son? Why did they whisk him away so suddenly before either of them even got a good chance to look at the fellow? Why? Why keep them in this suspense, certainly they can't be expected to wait like this for another minute, let alone an hour? Surely someone will come and tell them something…anything? Surely someone will come and do them that one kind justice? Surely someone could drop by and utter just a word, be it good or bad, as to the condition of their newborn, surely somebody in this whole hospital was capable of doing at least that? But no, it seems not, they have been waiting for thirty minutes already, and already it feels more like years than even hours, much less minutes.

"Fang…" She tries again, but to no avail, the birth has left her weak, too weak for whatever words she is trying to get out. He puts up a hand, the hand that is not firmly entwined with hers, to silence her. Either she doesn't notice it or she doesn't care…he's leaning towards a little bit of both, but pretty heavily on the latter.

"Fang, something's wrong." Her eyes are suddenly alert and wild as she fights to rip out the IV that is lodged in her arm; he grabs her hand before she gets the chance. "Let me go!" In a sudden burst of strength she breaks free of his grasp and sits up strait in the bed, gasping as though there is not enough air left on the planet to sustain her.

"Max…" He tries to soothe her, stroking her matted hair back from her forehead, but inside his own mind is telling him the same thing, something is wrong, the doctors wouldn't have rushed out like they did if it wasn't. Still, though, he shakes his head, not wanting to cause her to be more upset than she obviously already is. "I'm sure everything's fine, Max, they're probably just running tests or something…I'm sure it's perfectly normal." He's not sure, and he feels that she must be able to see that, but he sees no need to bring voice to the matter. Not now, anyway.

She brushes off his hand, not unkindly, and takes a breath, and another, allowing herself to be calmed down in fractions before speaking next. "No, it's not perfectly normal, Fang. It's just not…I've talked to Mom about this kind of stuff, they're supposed to let you hold it…it's supposed to cry…when it comes out, it's supposed to cry." Her shoulders are shaking and tears are running down her cheeks, "Fang, he didn't cry. Falcon didn't cry." She is sobbing in earnest now, and he puts his arm around her, pulling her easily to his chest, all the while shaking his head vehemently.

"I'm…I'm scared." She gulps, "Fang…I'm scared."

"I know," He nods his head just slightly above hers, "I know, baby, I am too."

**A/N: Please leave feedback**


	2. Chapter 2

"Fang…" She sucks in a breath and pulls away from his embrace gently so that she can meet his eyes, "Fang, what if something is wrong?" Noticing that he is about to protest she puts up a hand to silence him, "I'm serious. I have a bad feeling…I don't want to be right…" She feels yet another tear cut down her cheeks and his touch is gentle as he wipes it off, "God, I really don't want to be right, but what if I am? Fang," Her voice breaking, "What if I am?"

He shakes his head, and already she can see the denial in his eyes, "You're not. Max, you're not, Falcon's fine. You'll see he'll be fine." She sighs, wishes that she could believe that, but she can't. For whatever reason she can't, there's that horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, that horrible feeling that tells her without a doubt that she is right. That she is right and something is wrong, that Falcon is not fine, not in the least.

"Please," She feels her voice break and swallows it back, "Please, just humor me, what if I am right? What then?"

He sighs now, suddenly looking a lot older than nineteen, a lot older than he looked just minutes ago when their son was born. "If you're right," He shakes his head, "If you're right I don't know, okay? I just…I don't know."

She feels tears stinging at the backs of her eyes, she lets them flow, needing the cool relief that is his arms, needing to have them around her. He obliges, pulling her to him easily, "I just wish that someone would come and tell us what's going on. I feel like I'm going insane just waiting here." She shakes her head against his shoulder, feeling a shaky laugh making its way to the surface. She lets it out, choosing to ignore the hysterical edge in it.

Her face is buried in his shoulder when that dreadful knock comes. Just two sharp, precise taps; they feel like a death sentence. His heart is beating wildly and he can almost feel the fear rushing through his veins, it feels like ice water. He had hoped that with that knock would come relief, but that hope was futile. Futile because now he is not so sure of the condition of his son, not so sure that Falcon is okay…he is actually less than sure, much less than.

Almost without thinking he maneuvers himself between Max and the door, almost as if to shield her from whatever news the doctor might bring. Which is silly, she's going to hear it wherever she's at, they each will, but still…he can't shake the feeling that she needs protecting. That he needs to protect her. In his arms she stiffens; turning so that her wide, brown eyes meet his dark ones; what he sees there is terror. Pure terror, so much so that he feels his wings expanding; so much so that he wants to get her out of here. So much so that he needs to get her out of here.

But no, he can't do that. As much as he would like to he can't. Can't take her in his arms and fly away with her, can't coax her to expand her own wings and fly away with him; no, he can't do that. Can't do that because somewhere in this place is his son, somewhere in this place is his son who needs him. His son who needs his father and his mother both to be strong for him, to be here for him; he will not leave without his son.

Reluctantly he folds his wings back in, as if on a timer the door creaks open. He feels Max tense in his arms, but she doesn't look up, just turns her head to the side so that she has a loose view of the woman standing before them.

She does not need to listen to the woman's words, she knows what they will be before the woman has even opened her mouth. Her eyes are downcast, and her mouth is a sorrow-filled grimace; she turns, or rather, tries to turn, she doesn't want to watch this woman. Doesn't want to look at her as she tells them about Falcon, doesn't want to see her face as she announces what they both already know. She doesn't want to see any of it, but she is powerless to turn away, she is spellbound by this woman who just hours ago she had no clue existed.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ride," Already her tone is damning, but not unkind, not in the least, "I'm sorry." Fang's arms tighten around her and she feels her nails digging into his back, "The baby…"

"Falcon." I croak, "His name is Falcon."

The woman nods, as though expecting this, "The cord was tied around Falcon's neck. We, of course, did all that we could to help him, which is why we had to rush him out so suddenly." She glances at Fang once before turning to meet my eyes solely, "That was wrong of us. We should have let you hold him, there was nothing that we could do, and we knew that, but still we always feel compelled to try." There is a pause and she feels tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, making their way steadily down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Falcon didn't make it."

"Thank you." His voice is choked, "For telling us." She feels her heart break at the sound of it and longs to comfort him. But, just like before, she is powerless to turn away from the woman; completely, and utterly powerless to so much as lift her eyes away. So instead she does the best that she can muster, removes a hand from around his neck and interlaces it with his, giving it a good solid squeeze before turning her focus back to the woman.

The woman nods again, gets up to leave, "I really am sorry. You seem like nice people," She is at the door now, "You can hold him, if you like?" Panic flashes through her, filling her veins and pumping its way into her heart, hold him? Hold Falcon? Can she do that? Can she really do that? Or, at least, can she do that without being driven to insanity?

Without her consent she feels her head nod, it is small, but it is enough. The woman is out of the room in seconds and she has no sooner shut the door than his gaze is on her. "You want to hold him?" There is something accusing in his tone, but there is also pain; his eyes seem to be glazed over by it.

She shakes her head, "No. No, I don't want to hold him, but…I don't not want to either." Tears are running freely down her cheeks and his hand easily wipes them off, "It's difficult." She takes a long, shaky breath, "It's very difficult. I just feel like I have to do this, you know? That I have to see him at least once, don't you feel that way?"

He nods something like understanding shining through his eyes, "Yeah, I do."

She nestles herself back into his arms, not at all in control of the sob that escapes her. He plants a swift, warm kiss to her forehead letting his lips linger there for several minutes before moving to rest his head against hers. She hardly notices when the tears, slowly but surely, begin leaking onto her forehead.

**A/N: So, I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out. Please review and let me know what you thought of it, your reviews mean the world to me. Thanks a ton to **Bookworm768** and **PEACELOVINGIRL** for your reviews of last chapter they were received with smiles. LEAVE FEEDBACK**


	3. Chapter 3

He feels the tears pricking his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, but somehow he's just as powerless to stop them as he is to wipe them away; he is not ashamed of them, but still it is a relief to bury his face in her hair. He allows himself to stay there for a minute, surrounded by her and breathing in her familiar scent, just for a minute he allows himself to believe that everything is fine, that they are still back at the apartment, that Max hasn't even went into labor yet. Just for a minute he allows himself to be at peace despite the tears cutting cool tracks down his cheeks, he allows them to fade away, just for a minute he allows himself to forget.

That minute is shattered, however, by the arrival of the woman, she doesn't knock this time, just opens the door and walks in; beside him he feels Max tense. He wipes at his cheeks hastily, but he could have left them dripping and it wouldn't have mattered. Max's attention is focused completely on the child in the woman's arms, and after a moment so is his.

He doesn't look like a dead baby, not necessarily anyway; he looks clean, and he's wrapped in the traditional blue blanket that all newborn baby boys are given. For a moment he allows himself to pretend that the baby is alive, that Falcon is alive and simply sleeping in the nurse's arms; it is somewhat a relief of a fantasy, but it doesn't last long. As the woman draws closer he notices the paleness of the child, the lack of color in his cheeks, the stillness of the blanket…it all hits him like a bullet in the chest. This is his son…his dead son, that baby boy that he and Max had had so many discussions about, had agonized over, and had made plans for…this is that baby.

This child, now lying motionless in Max's arms…he'll never grow up, he'll never learn to read, to write, never suffer through a heartache, never get married…he'll never come home. Never see the room that he and Max had so painstakingly put together for him, never meet the flock and all of his other extended family who already love him, it's never-ending, the things that this child will never do. The things that he will never get to watch him do. He feels the tears but blinks them back, refusing to cry in front of this woman, in front of his son.

Max turns to him, tears running freely down her face; making small, round spots on the blue of the blanket; tears are running off her face, but her smile is that of an angel's. "Want to hold him?"

Numbly he nods, not at all in control of his body; he takes the bundle from her. Instantly he is hit with a tidal wave of emotions. On the one hand this is his son, and he's beautiful, a mop of black hair, his hair. Through the blanket he can feel a bump that is almost undoubtedly folded-up wings, something in him clenches. Although wrapped in a blanket there is nothing warm about the child, heat is radiating off of Max who is watching him with great interest, and by comparison the child seems almost cold. Too cold; with shaking hands he hands Falcon back to the nurse, who nods before taking him out of the room.

She has no more closed the door than he feels something inside of him break. Feels the sob rising and does nothing to stop it, can't do anything to stop it.

She takes him in her arms, frightened and touched both at the same time by his outburst. He so rarely shows emotion…it's almost scary when he does, scary and heartrending. Before long she feels her own shoulders shaking, trembling under the weight of so much loss. Holding Falcon might have been a mistake, a mistake she won't regret, but a mistake nonetheless. Before she held him she hadn't known what she was losing, hadn't fully grasped the gravity of it; now she knows all too well. He had had Fang's hair, probably Fang's eyes underneath those closed lids; her complexion, and wings, she's almost certain that Falcon had had wings underneath that blanket, but she couldn't bring herself to look.

His face is buried in her shoulder, much as hers is in his, finally, his eyes bloodshot and red from crying he stands up, pulling her with him, "Come on, let's get out of here." She nods, laying her head against his shoulder as they walk, hand in hand, for the door, prepare to fly home… Prepare to deliver the news.

"How do you think they'll take it?" They have just signed out, and he looks at her with surprise, mostly because the thought hadn't entered his own head yet. He sighs, shrugging his shoulders as they walk out the doors, his brain is still on overload from holding Falcon, holding him and then giving him up. He hasn't even stopped to consider the rest of the flock, his family who had all been anticipating this baby just as much as Max and himself.

"I don't know," He sighs again, rubbing his head, "I'd imagine pretty hard." He knows that's an understatement, a major understatement. A day hasn't gone by in the last month when Angel and Nudge have not been at the apartment, helping pick out clothes, checking the room to make sure that nothing short of a thread is out of place, in general just sitting around squealing. They would certainly take it hard, but then there was also Ella, she'd been there at least once every week, almost always twice, and Dr. Martinez was normally with her. Of course, Iggy and Gazzy will be disappointed, although, they probably won't show it as much as the girls. The girls will cry, of that he's positive, they will cry and Iggy and Gazzy will probably stand in stone silence, maybe Iggy will comfort Ella and Gazzy Angel, but either way it will be hard all the way around. Max doesn't need to worry about that, though; not now anyway.

She nods, biting her lip, "I don't want to go home." Her arm, which is wrapped in his, suddenly tightens as she sighs, "That sounds awful, but I don't. They're all going to be there, and they're likely to have some sort of surprise-welcome-home party…I can't do that right now." Her voice chokes, "Fang, I can't."

He nods, freeing his arm so that he can wrap it around her, once he has done so and her head is once again resting easily on his shoulder he sighs, running his free hand through his hair as he does so. "We'll get a room for the night…I'll call Iggy and let him know what's happening, I'll call your mom, too, if you want."

She wraps her arms around him, giving him a quick squeeze and letting them linger there longer than necessary before finally dropping them to her sides. She nods, "Thank you."

Her voice is so full of relief, she has no idea what it does for him, more than any thank you ever will, "Don't mention it."

**A/N: EVERYBODY PLEASE REVIEW! That being said, thanks a ton to **Beefy Bibbles** for reviewing last chapter…the support is very much appreciated. LEAVE FEEDBACK. **


	4. Chapter 4

He feels the ghost of a smile dance across his face as he lays her down on the bed. The day had finally caught up to her and she had walked about two blocks in her sleep before he had had the sense to pick her up and fly. She looks innocent when she sleeps, or, not so much innocent as peaceful. It is a look he doesn't often see on her when she's awake and whenever he does he is always taken by the beauty of it.

He takes off her shoes before throwing the blanket over her, allowing himself one more minute to admire her before pulling out his cellphone. He can count on one hand the number of times he has used the thing, but still, Max had demanded from the start of the pregnancy that he get one for safety's sake. He had shrugged and accepted that she wouldn't ease up until he got one, so, rather than fighting with her, he simply chose to go out and do as she said. Now he's glad that he did.

He dials Iggy's number easily, taking advantage of the speed dial that Max had set up. She being first and the rest of the flock succeeding by age, Ella and Dr. Martinez are on it, too, but he has yet to use theirs. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, he probably should have called Dr. Martinez first, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. Dr. Martinez might be Max's mom, and she might be family, but all that's all still too recent for him; at least when compared to the flock. Max would understand, hell, she'll be asleep so it doesn't really matter anyway. The flock comes first, though, that's the way it's always been and that's the way it will always be. They had agreed on that a long time ago and he is sticking to that agreement.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Iggy, it's Fang."

"Did she have him?" Excitement is leaking into his voice, excitement and genuine curiosity; it just makes what he has to do that much harder.

"Uhh…" He takes a moment, clearing the hitch that is rising in his throat, "Yeah, yeah, she had him."

There is silence on the other end, and then, cautiously, "What happened?"

He takes another breath, not missing how shaky it sounds he continues before Iggy has time to comment, "The cord was wrapped…" He swallows, "Around his neck. The cord was wrapped around his neck, he…he didn't make it."

There is another heavy silence and then a whistle; one of those long, drawn-out whistles that people make when they are shocked. Another silence and then, "I'm sorry, Man, that's rough."

"Yeah," He chokes, "Yeah, you could say that again."

"How's Max?"

"She's…she's sleeping. She pulled through it okay…just, you know, shocked." He doesn't say depressed because he's not sure yet, as far as he's been able to tell she's not. Then again, it's almost too early; the shock-value hasn't worn off nearly enough for her to show any serious signs of depression. He will be keeping his eyes on her, though.

"Well, that's good…" The voice on the other end trails off and he can almost feel the wince through the phone, "That probably sounded bad, I'm sorry. I meant it's good that she's okay as in, making it through the delivery and all of that."

"It's okay, I knew what you meant." There is a pause, "Are you guys at the apartment?"

"Yeah, Man, everybody's at the apartment, Nudge and Angel set up a welcome-home type of party." There is another pause and it's almost as though he can read his mind, "You want me to get them out?"

He feels a breath of relief escape him, "Yeah, if you can. Just tell them that we're not coming home tonight, or something…you don't have to tell them about Falcon. By tomorrow morning I imagine we'll be back and we'll tell them then."

"Okay, no problem." A pause and then, "I really am sorry."

"Yeah, I know." That hitch is back but he forces it down, "Thanks, Ig." He hangs up before the real waterworks start.

Taking a moment to collapse onto the vacant bed he takes a few shaky breaths before once again picking up the discarded phone. He gives himself one more minute to become collected before punching in the number for Dr. Martinez; he listens, with trepidation to the shrill ringing. If he listens to that ringing enough it will drive him mad.

Finally she picks up, "Fang? How's Max? Did she have him?"

He takes a breath before tackling the barrage of questions, "She's…she's okay, she had him."

Something in his voice must have given him away, because her next words are much more cautious, almost as if she already knows, "Is he…is Falcon okay? Was there any trouble?"

He feels something inside of him crack and tears are stinging at the corners of his eyes he blinks them away hastily before the pause becomes pregnant, "No. He…he didn't make it. They couldn't do anything for him…basically he was dead on arrival." Tears are running down his face in earnest now, but he just ignores them; it has been too long of a day to bother with them.

"Oh, my God, Fang; I'm so sorry." Her voice is quiet, but that does nothing to soften the shock that is pulsing through it. "I just…" There is a breath, "I just thought it was all going so well."

"Yeah, it was." He tries to keep some of the bleakness out of his voice, but honestly it is becoming a struggle, he is getting tired now; tired of talking to people and tired of just thinking about it in general. He wants to sleep, God, he wants to sleep.

"Are they keeping you at the hospital?"

He sighs, knowing that she is just concerned, but still just wanting this conversation to end, "No, they let us out a while ago. We just got a room for the night, she was tired and to be honest I'm getting there myself. We figured it would be easier than flying all the way back to the apartment."

She seems to take the hint, "It probably is. Are you going back to the apartment in the morning?"

"That would be my guess."

"Well, I'll come by then and see Max. Have a nice night, Fang, or, as nice as you can given the circumstances."

"You, too, Dr. Martinez." He hangs up all but throwing the phone onto the nearby table. With a sigh he crawls into the bed with Max, he is asleep almost before his head hits the pillow.

His arm is around her when she wakes up, and there is a slight moment of panic as she realizes that she is lying on her stomach, it quells in seconds. She's no longer pregnant, there's no reason for her to not lie on her stomach anymore. It is a somewhat depressing thought but she allows it to subside as she gently disengages herself from him so as to take a shower.

The bathroom is somewhat questionable, but she's been in worse and the shower makes her feel slightly better. Not a lot, but slightly. In the shower she can pretend that she's not crying.

He is still asleep when she walks out, but he's moving around in that restless way that suggests that he won't be for long. Sure enough, she has no more than sat down before his eyes begin blinking and he sits up. She offers him a wan smile, but if he notices he doesn't show it.

"I dreamed of him." His voice has that whispery-amazed quality that only comes with shock. She just nods, her smile staying in place through a fresh-wave of tears.

"Yeah, I think I did, too." She shakes her head sadly, "I hardly remember my dreams anymore." Sad, but true, it has been years since a dream has managed to stay with her after waking.

He shakes his head, still seeming amazed, "I'm going to go take a shower, after that we'd better get something to eat and get out of here. I called your mom last night and Iggy; I told them we'd be back at the apartment sometime this morning." She nods and he leaves for the bathroom.

So, that's two people down and…what, three, four more to go? She sighs, curling herself up to contemplate this as she waits.

Breakfast is a buffet and they go through it quickly, each eating between three or four plates, he watches with a grim sort of amusement as the onlookers gawk. Over the years he has gotten used to this reaction and now he just finds it to be something of the norm. When they finish he can almost feel the relief of the busboy, it's almost enough to make him laugh, almost.

Something inside of her seems to lift at the sight of her mother, Fang gives her hand a gentle squeeze and that is all it takes. Within seconds she is in her arms.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." She just nods, not trusting herself to talk, tears are streaming down her cheeks and she is next to positive that if she opens her mouth that sob that has been fighting will finally break out.

"Are you okay?" She pulls her back so as to get a good look at her; the concern in her voice is too much. The sob escapes and with a quick nod she is back in her mom's arms.

He forces himself to stay back, let her have this moment with her mom, but it is hard. It is hard because all he wants is to take her in his own arms, to take her and hold her there, keep her safe from the rest of the world. This is good for her, though, and this is what she wants, so he will step back and let her have this moment, simple as that.

After a few minutes Max pulls away, drying her eyes she moves back to his side and it is almost as if that is what it takes for Dr. Martinez to realize that he is there. With a sad look on her face she moves over, giving him a quick hug as well, "How are you doing, Fang?"

He sighs, a shaky sort of sigh before running a hand through his hair, "I've definitely been better."

She nods sympathetically and seems to be getting ready to say something but Nudge cuts her off. Bursting into the room her eyes as well as voice full of excitement, "Where's Falcon?"

She is so excited, and that's what hits her the hardest. Nudge is so excited and she has no idea that the child she came here to see is gone. She had thought, no, she had hoped, that Fang or Iggy would have told the rest of the flock, but maybe she shouldn't have. She feels a cry escape her and within moments she is in Fang's arms, his lips warm against her forehead. He sighs and her face instantly seeks out his shoulder, he allows her to stay there, for which she is grateful.

The rest of the flock streams in behind Nudge and all of them, save for Iggy, seem to share the same shell-shocked face at the sight of Max weeping in his arms. He sighs, running a hand through his hair; he'll have to do this, she can't, so therefore it's his job.

"Falcon's dead." It comes out sounding rougher than he meant it to, and in his arms Max gives another heart-wrenching sob at the words. It his rough, and it might be crude, but it's true, the baby is dead and that's all there is to it. His son is dead and that's all there is. In the doorway Angel cries out, tears running down her face, Gazzy put an arm around her and it seems to send off a spark. Before long the entire room is crying, not outrageously, just streams-running-down-the-face type. Himself included.

**A/N: Just wanting to address that this is not a miscarriage as I had at one time labeled it, mistake on my part, but I figured that most of you have probably already picked up on this by now. Sorry for any confusion that might have caused, but I have changed it in the summary as well. Thanks a ton to maximumrain3-your review was extremely helpful and I thank you for being honest with your comments. Thanks also go to Beefy Bibbles and Silents-in-the-Library for their reviews! Please continue to review everyone who has been and if you haven't been now is a GREAT time to start. *Smiles* Thanks to everybody for their amazing support…and remember to LEAVE FEEDBACK. **


	5. Chapter 5

Her hand curls easily over the neck of the bottle, too easily for comfort. It is her only friend in these dark and hollow places; it is her only friend in the dark, throbbing abyss that had once been her heart. It is the only thing that can warm her, even if for only a minute; burning down her throat, that minute is bliss. It does for her what Fang's arms no longer can; it provides safety. For a lapse of time that feels like no more than one fragile, lonely minute she is sheltered from the real world. She is sheltered from the bad and she is sheltered from her own thoughts… from the reality of the child's room slowly filling with dust just around the corner. For the brief, fragile minute she is allowed to forget all of that; she is allowed to forget her pain and she is allowed to forget about the child that was. She is allowed to forget about Falcon.

At first she had been resistant to that; she had clung to him… for the last several weeks she had lived in that abandoned baby's room… she had slept on the floor with a sleeping bag until she realized just how much pain that was causing her. No, it is easier to let the whiskey drown her pain; easier to let herself drown out the thoughts that are brought on by too much time sober… easier to board up the room and pretend it never happened. If she had her say she would. She would board up the room and that would be that. No more looking at that gloomy piece of stark reality; no more living a life of what-ifs and of what-could-have-beens. She is ready to be done with that; as long as she holds this bottle she is ready for anything.

Fang doesn't like to see her like this. She knows that… and in a distant way she supposes that she is sorry about that…sorry about the pain that mars that beautiful face whenever he looks at her. If she could she would take away that pain…but to do that would mean to give up the bottle, and she can't. It's out of the question; even for Fang it is out of the question.

He watches from a distance as she picks up yet another bottle; watches as she grimaces at the first burning sip before taking another and another until it goes back to being second-nature. He watches, with something like lead in his stomach, as she sits down yet another empty bottle. It is her third one, or something like it, today. Out of this week it is one of countless.

He doesn't mean to watch her and he sure as hell doesn't want to, but something inside of him says that he has to. He has to watch her and make sure that she doesn't kill herself on the damn stuff; he has to watch her because he loves her. Something inside of him still loves her, and something, buried deeply somewhere inside of her, still loves him too.

He had turned the other way at the beginning. They had each been having a hard time and the flock had always been around to help regulate them. He had thought that drinking was something normal for people suffering from depression or the like; he had thought that she would eventually come out of it. He had just been happy when she started sleeping back in their bed instead of on the floor. She had downed several bottles a night when she had been sleeping on the floor but as far as he knows that could be the same amount she is drinking now. He stopped counting the exact number x number of weeks ago. It had been too much and he had given up; he hadn't had it in him anymore to count just how far downhill she was going. Just how far downhill she still is going.

He comes and tries to take the bottle from her. She holds onto it with something like fierce-protectiveness. Probably the same way she would have held onto Falcon had he been healthy and allowed to come home; had he lived.

"Max…"His voice is a plea and for one second it has her attention. It has all of her attention. Fang's voice is almost never a plea; she has never heard it as a plea and she never wants to hear it as one again. It is a horrible sound… it doesn't fit him and it breaks her heart. For that one full second she is completely caught up in his voice and in the texture and structure of it… for one full second he has all of her attention…but then the second is gone and her attention away with it.

"Max…" He tries again, and she is only vaguely listening. The bottle is calling to her, begging her to take just another sip. Just another sip and then another and she'll be happy for a few more minutes. She will be granted ignorance for a few more minutes. She takes another sip, raising it easily even though his fist is curled around it. The pain in his eyes could be oceans.

"Max, please. You don't need this. You're better than this…you know you're better than this." Something inside of her clicks; she does know that she's better than this. At least she knows that at one time she was better than this. At one time she would have been able to take this pain with an iron fist and she still would have been able to smile. That time is over.

She shakes her head and she feels only slightly guilty at the way her voice comes out; in a stark contrast to Fang's emotion-filled plea, hers is completely lacking in anything like emotion. Maybe those have drowned too…who knows? A lot of things drown in whiskey.

"You are. You're better than this…I'm not. Not anymore." Maybe a tinge of wistfulness on the last part, but if there is it is lost on her. She wants to feel wistful…she wants to feel bad about making him suffer like this… she wants to feel bad about leaving behind the girl who could kick the ass of any one who dared to challenge her, let alone fate. She wants to feel bad about that; but she doesn't. For whatever unfathomable reason, she doesn't. She doesn't feel anything anymore.

All she feels is the burn of whiskey… all she wants to feel is the burn of whiskey… with whiskey the pain is invisible. With whiskey Falcon is just a dull memory… a thought that might be consistent but one that does not as much as throb in the heat of the liquor.

She is swaying on her feet and beginning to resemble a drunken pirate, if he doesn't detach her from it soon she'll pass out. He'd come home more than once to find her lying on the floor with that wretched bottle clutched in her hands. He is afraid of what will happen if he takes it away from her…he's more afraid of what will happen if he doesn't.

She lets go of it this time…she's probably beginning to feel the effects herself; normally she just won't admit it or she doesn't care…but then again, normally he's not here. Normally he's anywhere but here; anywhere that is not surrounded by so much death and depression…by so many memories. Anywhere is better than here; anywhere.

He puts the bottle down gently, trying not to marvel at how light it is in his hands… it is hard, if not for the glass it would weigh just about as much as air; maybe an ounce or two more. He doesn't want to think about it, so instead he slips an arm around her waist… tries again not to think of how thin she is… trying and not quite succeeding. She has lost too much weight lately… he needs to start regulating that… he needs to start doing a lot of things… he needs to, but he can't. He can't stand being here… not with her like this… it's too much. It hurts too much.

His arm is warm around her and she is pretty sure that without it she would fall over. She should be ashamed of herself…but she's not…she's not at all. She's not because she is dealing with her pain in an effective way… she can control it… to an extent she can control it. For her that is enough. She is under almost as soon as she hits the mattress…she almost misses it when he crawls in beside her… almost misses it when he whispers that he loves her. She wishes that she had missed the tears glistening in his eyes.

**A/N: Wow, I'm sorry about the wait… I honestly thought that this was going to be over but then I'm like no, I started this so I'll continue it and for whatever reason inspiration struck. Now, I must warn you, I am really busy and if you want this to be continued and updated then you are going to have to review. Everyone has to review this if want it continued… I've got too many other projects to work on to worry about something that nobody reads. So, that being said I'm glad that we had this little talk and I'm actually really happy with this chapter, I hope you all are too. Thanks to **ThatFreakInThePandaHat** and **Silents-in-the-Library** for reviewing last chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning he tries to clean out Falcon's room. He slides out of the bed and reluctantly unwraps himself from her, reluctantly because it has been weeks since she allowed him to hold her… weeks since they were able to share something even so intimate as holding hands. At least it has been weeks since they have shared intimacy doing anything other than holding each other up long enough to reach the bed, and that's only when she's too drunk to notice even who he is. He should be bothered by that, but he's not… not anymore. Now he's more bothered by the fact that he's not bothered; by the fact that he can't be bothered by it. Not anymore, at least not for the most part. Before too long he suspects he will be immune to it altogether. All in all it doesn't sound that bad; it sounds much better than the daily pain that he endures now. It would be head-and-shoulders above that; anything would be head-and-shoulders above that.

He tries, he really tries, boxes and everything, to clean out the baby's room. For about three solid minutes he is completely and fully committed to packing away all the dreams that he had for his son. He is completely and fully committed to filling these empty boxes with all the clothes and toys that they had so eagerly bought… they had been so much happier then. Two different people; they had been two completely different people; he sighs but otherwise does nothing to hold back the wave of disgust that washes over him. He pushes back the box; it's only half-full but still it feels like it weighs a ton. He pushes it back but not in time.

"What are you doing?" Numbly she stands in the doorway, a forgotten glass of water in her hand. From the floor he looks up at her abashedly but does not avert his eyes, she can tell he would like to. He says nothing. There is a box in front of him, pushed to the side a little bit, and in it are about three toys and a couple of shirts. If she took a step inside she could see more properly the contents, but the doorway is as far she will go; already she can feel the curse of this room working its magic. Already she can hear the high-pitched cry of the bottle; soon she will have to rescue it. But first there is this to deal with, first there is him to deal with. "Fang, what are you doing?"

From the way that she is looking down on him she knows exactly what he is doing. She knows exactly what he is doing and she doesn't like it, she doesn't like it at all. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair before getting up and crossing over to her. He tries to take her arm, tries to even so much as take her hand, but she flinches away from him; flinches away from him as though his touch is venom. Again he sighs but allows her to step back, he wishes that she would drink the glass of water that she is almost crushing in her hand; wishes that she would drink that so he didn't feel so damn bad about the way she's looking at him right now. Like he's a white coat, like he's a monster.

Well, he's not a monster. He's a man and this is his house, too. Falcon was his son, too. Her pain, he feels all of it. He feels every single stab of it as though it's a stake going directly into his own already throbbing heart. He has a right to try and lessen that pain. He has every single right in the world to try and lessen their pain. He considers trying to explain all of this to her, he considers that hard as he's been considering that for weeks; but by the look in her eyes she wouldn't understand a word of it. He might as well try speaking Swahili after she's had around her third or fourth bottle for the night; maybe he'd have some better chances if she could only guess at what he is saying.

"Max," His voice is gentle but she doesn't believe it for a moment. It's just a trap. He'll call to her with that gentle voice one moment and the next he'll be ready to pounce on her and box her up just the same as he is Falcon. She won't be lured in by that voice; she can ignore it now, after all, once you have the call of the bottle everything else slips away to the light. Even his voice will slip away to the call of the light, it will take a while, but if she drinks enough she know it will be done. If she drinks enough her pain will go away with his voice that whiskey will carry away her pain and her troubles, will carry away his voice, take it to an abyss far away. If only she drinks enough; if only she can drink enough; she doesn't think there's enough drinks in the world.

"Max," There is something in his eyes, something like anguish, something that makes her feel a brief tug at her gut, but she discards it. She can't feel pity right now; right now she has to stick up for her son. Maybe later, later when she goes to reach for the bottle, she can come back to this moment. She can come back to this moment and feel all of her pity and compassion and heartache then, but not right now. Right now she will stick up for her son. She will stick up for him since she's the only one who seems to care about him anymore; sad how fast the world forgets.

"Max," He swallows, "Max, we have to let go of him. He's never coming here, he's never going to wear this stuff, he's never going to play with this stuff, he's never even going to look at this stuff; he's gone. Max, he's gone and he isn't coming back." The last part comes out almost whispered and even through the whisper he can feel the hate radiating off of her; he feels it like an open flame next to his heart. "Max, all this room is doing is making you sick and making me sick, don't you feel that? Don't you feel how much sickness is projecting out of this room? You can't even look at it; this is the first time since we got home that I've even seen you this close to it. It's time to let go of it, it's time to let go of it before it ruins everything."

He suspects it already has; this step, this step of him finally making the move to box some of this stuff up, it has sealed something between them. Some unknown contract that each of them filled out without a glance at what the sacrifices would be. The heat radiates off of her stronger, much stronger for another moment, but then it is gone altogether. It is gone and all that is left is a tall, muscular, but fragile girl; not quite a woman, but a girl. Her words send a wave of shock through him and instantly he recoils from them; he recoils even though he is expecting them; even though he has been expecting them for weeks.

"I want you out." She can't feel anything, not the shaking in her hands, not the tears trickling down her cheeks, not even the knife ripping a hole where her heart once was. She feels none of it and she sees none of it; she doesn't, not even for a moment, catch a glimpse of the defeated look scarring his beautiful eyes. She doesn't notice the way the light seems to leave them. This doesn't feel real. It feels like a movie, something that was already scripted long ago, something that she is powerless to change and even more powerless to control… all she can do is read her lines. All she can do is read her lines and break his heart, rip it into a thousand pieces; break her own heart in the process.

"Max," Desperation is in his voice for all those who can hear it. She can't. She can't even see him right now, not as Fang, all she can see is a monster; a man who is ready to discard his own child to the curb. Bile rises in her throat but still she feels nothing, "Max, please… you don't mean this. You're just upset right now, and I get it, but you don't really mean this… you can't."

Something in her feels a brief flash of horror as his voice breaks over the last line, as his eyes begin to rain; slow, steady tears down his cheeks. Something inside of her feels horror, but it is buried too deep to get any say; her voice is kept even easily, even as the tears continue to fall from her own cheeks. Even as the glass of water falls from her hands and shatters with a bang; she doesn't hear it and he doesn't look at it… they are each truly off in their own world. A world that is crumbling to the ground around them.

"I need time, okay? I just… I just need some time; right now I don't even want to look at you." Still she feels nothing, she can tell that he is breaking; she can tell that she should feel something at least about that, but she doesn't. She doesn't feel anything. She turns to leave, calls over her shoulder, "You should probably unpack that box; you might need it."

She is gone. She is gone just like how he will be in a few hours' time. He throws out a curse word, throws another one, gets up, and throws a punch through the baby-blue wall. It leaves a hole that he instantly regrets but does nothing to fix; it's kind of like the hole in his heart, the hole that Max once filled.

**A/N: Please, please don't flame me for this, (I know you want to), you'll just have to trust me about this and hope for the best… or flame me if your heart is really in it, but don't forget that I am just as big a Fax fan as anyone. Now, that being said, I am very happy to be able to thank our highest number of reviewers yet, this chapter thanks go out to**; Peppermint. Rocks**, **Silents-in-the-Library**, **ThatFreakInThePandaHat**, **Im The Nights Shadow**, and **Dark. Rose. 171**. Keep up the reviews if you want more chapter and you want them quickly!**


	7. Chapter 7

In the shadow of these white walls and matching steel appliances she almost resembles her namesake…in his present condition she does resemble her namesake; an angel. He knows better than that, though; he recognizes this familiar figure…he recognizes this girl despite the tear tracks staining her face, despite the absence of light in her eyes. With a sense of dread and intense, excruciating pain he recognizes Angel… he recognizes the girl who saved his life. The girl who took Max away from him for the second time; he doesn't see that when he looks at her, though. He kind of wants to see it; he wants to see someone that he can blame for taking away his happiness…he wants to see someone whom he can hate… but all he sees is Angel. All he sees is the little girl whom he partially raised throughout her life with tears glistening in her eyes and pouring down her cheeks. All he sees when he looks at her is pain and the knowledge that he is the cause of it; at least partially he is the cause of it. He opens his arms; she is in them in seconds.

"Why…why would she…why would she do that, Fang? Why?" Her small body is shaking in his arms and her breathing is only a collection of gasps, he notices with a sting that she doesn't ask why he did it. Then again, she doesn't need to; she doesn't need to because the scene explained itself. He wants to pull her up so that she can sit on the bed; normally he could do this with no effort whatsoever… now it would rip out his stitches…something he won't do in front of her. Luckily she seems to read his mind and hops up without his help; he keeps an arm around her all the same.

"I don't know, Angel." But he does, "I don't know why she did it." She did it because of him; if he hadn't left she'd still be alive. If he hadn't left then Angel would still have the only mom she's ever known with her. He would still have the love of his life with him.

He doesn't want to tell Angel that, though, even if she'll see it in his head he doesn't want to have to physically say it to her. By the way she nods he knows that she understands, she understands all of it… too well. She understands all of it much too well. He gives her a quick squeeze before ruffling her hair with half-numb fingers… if she notices his lack of energy she doesn't say anything.

"How did you get back here, Angel? Where's Iggy?" Surely he wouldn't have let her come back here on her own? Surely he wouldn't have wanted to let her see him like this? Iggy would have kept her out in the waiting room all night before letting her come back here… he's sure of that… between Iggy and the nurses she would be hard-pressed to find entrance to this back room; to this white-walled jail cell.

She raises an eyebrow at him as though he should have guessed how she got back here; which, really he probably should have, but that doesn't matter. "Mind control is much more helpful than it used to be." She laughs a little even though tears are still glistening down her cheeks, "Iggy went outside to see Ella… you don't make it easy on him, you know?"

He nods and gives a bitter sort of laugh, a few tears fall into Angel's hair, "Yeah, I know…God, I know." And he does. He had seen it in the way Iggy's eyes had been focused on him even though they couldn't see him; in the way his entire body had seemed to tremble with anger. It is too hard on him…maybe it was too much to expect him to take over the leadership of the flock… maybe it was too much too quickly but that's all there was to do. One day Iggy will understand that…one day he'll understand why he tried to do it; why he might try again to do it…but now is not the time for that.

She is quiet for a minute before she continues, not looking at him as she speaks. Her words are a shock; but at the same time he doesn't understand how they can be… they would be more of a shock if she had said anything else, really.

"Fang," A whisper, "I didn't see it, in her mind, I didn't see it; I didn't see anything about it." There is no question of what 'it' is… it couldn't be anything else…Max's suicide. He swallows but doesn't loosen his grip; if anything he tightens it.

"Angel, it's okay…" He tries to calm her but she is not buying any of it, her shoulders are just as tight and her tears just as rapid as they have been since she walked into the room. She must have been thinking about this a lot… he can tell by the way her brow furrows and by the narrow set of her eyes.

"It's not okay." Her voice is louder now and her shoulders back to trembling, "Fang, it's not okay. Don't you see?" She is crying again, the tears racing in earnest down her cheeks now. He considers wiping them away but it would be pointless. More runners would just take the track.

"I could have…I could have saved her…Fang." Her thin body is shaking now and her words are punctuated by the occasional gasp of air, he wants to tell her to slow down. To tell her that it's not her fault… to comfort her and take away her pain…but he can't. He can't because possibilities are flitting through his head like matchbox cars on a Hot Wheels track.

Max could have lived. She could have walked down to that bathroom, locked the door behind her, grasped the razor in her hand, but been stopped before she actually brought the blade to her skin. She could have been apprehended in the hallway on the way down… she could have been caught sneaking the razor and been scolded and lost her guts… she could have lived. She could be here right now, in this hospital room, with a bandage over her wrist instead of in a body bag waiting to be examined in some coroner's office. So many things could have happened to change this and all of them could have happened because of the little girl beside him.

Once again he wants to hate her. He wants to yell and curse and throw stuff at her… to at least think something bad about her…but it is more than that. He wants to want to be able to do those things; to do any of those things; but he can't. He just can't. All he can see is that little-seven-year-old girl; that girl who had meant the world to Max… he can't hate her. He can't even want to hate her. So instead he embraces her.

"It's okay, Angel." He whispers, because he knows that's what Max would have wanted him to do… she would have wanted him to assure Angel; so that's what he will do. "You couldn't have known; she would have hidden it well, you know she's good…" He swallows, "You know she was good at hiding stuff like that. She wouldn't have wanted you to be able to stop her and that's why she hid it so carefully from you… it's not your fault that she's gone." No, that would be his fault, right there; purely his fault.

She nods, "I know…I know it's not my fault…Max wanted this and I didn't have anything to do with why she wanted it." She looks at him and he feels a tear slide down his face but both pretend that it is invisible, "It just feels like it's my fault…Fang, I feel like I killed her." It is a whisper and the end of it is a punctuated sob that Hollywood only wishes it could replicate. He feels his heart shatter as though that whisper is ice.

"Angel," She won't look at him so he takes her face gently and forces her to, "Angel, no." He is dismayed to find his own voice choked, but he is not altogether surprised.

"Angel," He shakes his head again, "Angel, no… if this was anyone's fault it was mine and you have to know that's the truth." Her head is buried in his chest so he can't see her face… he can't tell whether or not she believes him; she has to believe him, though, he's telling the truth.

She nods, "I believe that you believe that you're telling the truth, Fang. I just don't know if what you and I believe is what Max believed… I don't know if I want to know what Max believed." Her sobs have quieted down to where he can actually hear her without struggling. Her sentences aren't as broken as they were earlier… just minutes earlier. It is a bit of a relief; more than a bit, a major relief.

"I think she was lost." He hardly recognizes his voice when it comes out, is hardly aware of the words. "I don't think she really knew what she was doing…not fully at least. I think that…maybe she just wanted to know where she stood… maybe she thought that if she had control over the situation…" He trails off, "I don't know. Maybe she thought it would be better for her that way."

Angel is looking at him as though he has grown a third head and he really cannot blame her… he feels like he's grown a third head. That idea burst to him as if from nowhere… but still it seems so… so right. It's the right answer… he knows it is… it has to be at least partially the right answer. It just… it just feels right, somehow… it feels… true.

"Fang, you've got a weird look on your face. Have you thought about this?" No, no he hadn't thought about that… but he had dreamed about it hadn't he? He had dreamed about Max walking down a hallway to a bathroom with a razor clutched in her hands thinking about death and about depression. He had dreamed that, woken up, called Iggy and then Iggy had found Max lying in a tub of her own blood. That had to mean something, didn't it? It has to mean something.

"It does mean something." Angel's voice interrupts his thought abruptly and he turns to her, almost forgetting that she was there. He bolts out of his thoughts with a shake but she doesn't seem to notice; she is looking at him with nothing short of amazement. "Fang, you had a premonition about Max was going to do… either that or you actually saw it while she was doing it." She turns to him with intensity nothing short of hawk-like, "Has this ever happened to you before?"

"No." He shakes his head numbly, "No, never. This has never happened to me before…What do you think it means?"

"I don't know." She shakes her head, "I don't know what it means." She lies back against his chest as though all this thinking has wiped all the energy out of her… he can understand that. He's been unconscious for who-knows-how long and already he feels wiped.

"You scared me, Fang, Gazzy and Nudge too, and Iggy… really you scared all of us… they wouldn't tell us anything for a while…" She dabs at her eyes, "We thought you were dead like Max." At the end there is another sob and it leads to an ambush of them; this little girl is cutting what is left of his heart to pieces, "I…I miss her already, Fang. It's not even been…been a day and…and I already miss her."

He kisses the top of her forehead, "I know, I miss her too," He fights to keep his voice level, "I miss her, too." And God he does. He misses everything about her from her brown eyes to her laugh… he'll always miss those things… there's no help for it… but he doesn't need to think about this… not when Angel is close enough to see it… not here and now. So instead he will think of happier times… of the flock together and of learning to fly like the hawks… everything but his depression… he leaves that on a backburner. Next to it he leaves Max in the tub… for now he won't think about her lifeless body drowning in the too murky waters… he'll just think of her the way she was.

Angel is still asleep on his lap when they come for him.

**A/N: Well, I'm much happier with this than last chapter… I'm not sure why. It just came to me a lot easier I think… I'm very happy with it which is one of the reasons I'm putting it out so early even without all the reviews that I wanted. Now, of course I must thank those that did bother reviewing, **Raeofmydarkness**, **JealousMindsThinkAlike**, **Maxie89**, and **TheDarkAngelofAwesome**- you all are freaking amazing and please keep it up! Now, I imagine you all already know this… but I am very, very influenced by reviews… without them I have a difficult time justifying writing over whatever else I am doing or over whatever else I am writing. So, that being said, remember to please, please review! Thank you!**


	8. Chapter 8

_Every time our eyes meet_

_This feeling inside me_

_Is almost more than I can take_

_ "You're beautiful." His voice is low, it dances like velvet against her ear and she leans into it; she smiles as his arms tighten around her. She imagines from the outside they must resemble a penguin; all a mass of black and white flesh meshed together; all a mass of black and white silk meshed together. Trails of feathers dust the floor, gliding back and forth as they sway; neither one of them really caring how they look. Neither one of them even thinking about how clumsy their footwork is, or remarking about how her foot somehow always seems to come back to his. _

_Baby when you touch me _

_I can feel how much you love me _

_And it just blows me away_

_ "The feathers are a nice touch." She laughs, tightening her arms and he smiles. It is a small smile and one of the thousands that he has shared with her in even just the last hour. Her laugh is just one in a series of thousands that have gone with that smile; each time he flashes it she still feels her heart melt. It is almost magic, except for the fact that it is. Him, the dress, this music, and her family; if there is magic then this is it. Swaying, rocking back-and-forth with Fang, his arms tightened around her; fitting her like a second skin… this is magic. Not hocus pocus, not wands and brooms, not witchcraft and wizardry; just her and Fang, wrapped together in the center of a dance floor. _

_I've never been this close to anyone or anything _

_I can hear your thoughts _

_I can see your dreams _

_ "I thought they might be." She whispers and a tear escapes from the corner of her eye; dances its way down her cheek. He gives a light chuckle but his eyes are somber; concerned even as his lips move to kiss it away. She feels foolish, but still another one follows, and another; sighing she readjusts her arms, moves to put her face in his neck. Heat radiates from it and she can feel her tears drying but still she does not pull herself away; the scent of cloves mixed with something encompasses her. _

_I don't know how you do what you do _

_I'm so in love with you _

_It just keeps getting better_

_ "Hey," His voice is soft as it envelops her; wraps her in its cocoon of warmth and concern; his lips part and he guides her face to his; his gaze holds nothing short of sincerity. She feels another cry rise and his brow furrows even as his hand moves to stroke her back; even that familiar movement does nothing. The comfort that had once come with it is nowhere to be found. "Hey, hey, it's okay… it's okay, I'm here. Sweetheart, I'm right here," He lowers his face so that it is buried in her hair; allows hers to return to his shoulder. "Baby, I'm right here…" People are staring, but still he does not loosen his grip; does not allow his voice to rise; just continues with his small chant. "Baby, I'm right here, okay? Max, I'm right here."_

_I want to spend the rest of my life _

_With you by my side _

_Forever and ever_

_ She can feel his breath, warm against her ear; the smell of cinnamon mists around her; takes her in its own deadly embrace. There is something else there; something darker; something that she knows is not cinnamon, nor clove, or even mint… something that she knows she will never find on Fang; that she will never smell on Fang; alcohol. It envelops her, carries her, wraps her up and pulls her away… pulls her out from the shelter that had been his arms. It folds a blanket over her; closing her eyes and masking her from the pain and terror that shine in his. Slowly she feels the heat of his touch drift away; feels the river of her tears begin to swell as the bulge over the boulder of her closed lids. _

_Every little thing that you do _

_Baby, I'm amazed by you_

_ The music still plays but this empty floor knows no partners; what, just seconds ago had been magic, has now deteriorated. Shriveled down to nothing; just a sea of broken hopes with a sprinkling of forgotten dreams to float in it. Just a sea of black with a sprinkling of gold; and then nothing; a flash of stench; and then a wave of oblivion; a tide of despair mixed with a salt of deadening liquid. It rises over her head and she makes no move to gasp at the air while it still surrounds her; when the wave comes she lets it; she lets it overtake her completely. She lets herself become just another casualty in this ocean of debris. _

"Fang?" The voice on the other end of the receiver shakes, and he fights to keep control of the cell phone grasped in his hand. She's okay… she has to be okay… it has only been a couple of hours… she has to be okay.

"Fang," Iggy's voice shakes, "Fang, you've got to get down here- it's Max… it's Max… she's… she won't… she won't wake up, man. She won't… she won't wake up… I'm… I'm calling an ambulance… Get down here now, man."

The phone falls from his hand; hitting the floor with a bang that goes unheard by anyone; he is out the door in seconds. Too bad he is hours too late.

**A/N: Well, I'm not going to lie and say this chapter was a breeze to write because it really wasn't. It was probably the most difficult one yet, especially since only two people cared enough about last chapter to review. So, this chapter is completely dedicated to Darkie and Silents-in-the-Library- you two rule and I can only hope that some more people take after your examples and review this chapter… because trust me, these chapters are already hard to write and even harder so when it appears nobody appreciates them. The song, by the way, is Amazed by Lonestar. If you guys would like to see pictures of Fang's tuxedo and possibly Max's dress I might post links if you review enough. **


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